Page 5 of Shot on Goal at a Second Chance
“Right away. Already have an assignment. Guess I’ll be apartment hunting while I’m there, too.”
“Find a place near the beach.” She giggles. Her mother always loved the beach, too.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Gotta go, Uncle Zach. Send me pictures!”
“Will do, peanut.”
The connection ends, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And trepidations about seeing Rebecca again.
Of all the interviews I’ve done over the years, this may be my most challenging yet.
CHAPTER 3
Rebecca
Any minute now, Derek, the assistant and interim coach, will come fetch me for the ceremony, which gives my nerves a jolt to think about. I’d have much preferred to meet the team in the locker room before practice started, but the staff insisted we make an event out of it.
Well, mostly Jack Standish, the general manager, who insists the press coverage willhelp shed a new and promising light on the future of the Sun Kings. His words.
I reposition my keyboard, pen, and notepad on my desk for at least the third time. He’s right, but I’ve never been that comfortable with the spotlight. And right now, I’m more interested in finding a new coach for this team before the season starts. Derek doesn’t feel qualified for the position, and I’m inclined to agree. Awkward conversation avoided there, thankfully.
A soft tap draws my attention to the doorway to my office.
Dereksmiles, but his eyes appear guarded as if he’s as unsure about this whole situation as I am. “We’re ready.”
Understandable, of course. The team and staff suffered a shock finding out about their coach, the person who’s supposed to be rooting for and not against you. The arena isn’t the only thing in need of serious repair. It’s going to take time to earn the trust of this crew.
I stand, smoothing anxious fingers over my black slacks, and straighten the collar of the deep red-orange top I chose to reflect the Sun Kings’ colors. This team needs to know I’m not one of those hands-off owners who swoop in only for the wins. I plan to be here every day, overseeing operations and finding them a coach who thinks outside of the box.
And believes in them.
Once we reach the end of the tunnel, Derek steps aside and gestures to the clear plexiglass podium waiting for me. Jack stands there with a smile that makes him appear more anxious than happy.
The rest of the staff sit in chairs on a black mat behind him with neutral expressions on their faces. Except for Harper—Jack’s niece—who I found out was brought on as a college intern. She’s like a dolphin, perpetually smiling and always ready to help. She returned to my office that first day with the promised ant killer and a can of WD40 to quiet my creaky chair. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d already placed an order for a new desk and chair to be delivered the next day.
Right now, I need an ally here. And she just may be my girl.
The team is fully geared up, including sticks, standing on the ice in a semi-circle in front like an audience. Behind them, the press. Mostly local, except for one reporter from USA Hockey Magazine.
I step out onto the black runner spanning the ice and make my way to the stand as the attending press takes photos. But I’m more keenly aware of how the players are watching me, how they’re fidgeting back and forth on their skates and swapping concerned glances. They’re the ones I need to impress and reassure.
“Today, it’s my pleasure to introduce our new owner, Ms. Rebecca Piedmont.” Jack steps back, leaving a sudden and silent gap in the dialogue.
I’d expected him to say more, but I guess he’s ceding that privilege to me. I remember to smile, thanks to Kayla’s voice in my head, and scan the line of players watching me.
Seeing their expectant faces, most likely wondering if they’ll have a team to play for in a year, brings to mind the advice my father used to give to his players.
“Good afternoon, team.” I glance over my shoulder at the staff to make sure they understand that I don’t just mean the players on the ice. “My father, former coach and general manager, Sam Piedmont, used to say a good coach directs. A great coach listens. I’m not your coach—probably a good thing.” More laughter. “But I do plan to listen.”
Stepping around the podium, I walk to the edge of the black mat. The players are looking at each other, mildly confused.
“I’ve gotten acquainted with each of the staff members, but now I’d like to meet each of you.”
After more unsure glances, the goaltender skates over. “Wade Pierce, ma’am. Goaltender.”
I shake his hand. “I think the pads gave it away, Wade.”
